The Good Ones Die First
by Ah-mandine
Summary: Dean thinks Castiel is definitely too kind for his own good. Turns out, he may be right. (Not really Destiel -except maybe deep in my heart-, really short and a little bit sad)


**I am so sorry about this. Seriously sorry. A friend of mine wrote a really, REALLY depressing fanfiction that she had me read earlier today and MAN here is the result. IT'S ALL HER FAULT.**

**God, what did I do.**

* * *

Had Dean learned one thing from this whole mess, it surely was the fact that not all angels were sweet and innocent creatures. Truth be told, very few actually were. Castiel, however, was one of these rare exceptions. Dean had seen him kill numerous people, stabbing, burning them, their eyes, ripping their soul out of their body. And yet, he was filled with a strange candor, and yet he was still so very clueless about so many things, so easily excitable.

For that reason, seeing that pure soul so easily crushed by the smallest, most insignificant things in life had his heart breaking every single fucking time. As he watched the angel crouched down on the asphalt, his head lowered in distress, Dean took in a sharp breath and cursed quietly.

It was not raining, but it might as well have been. The August sky had turned dark with clouds, heavy and menacing and it only served to add to their somber mood. He took a few steps forwards, then hesitated a bit before putting a hand down to the angel's shoulder, squeezing softly. He wasn't good at those things, hell, he couldn't even think of anything he could say to make him feel better. He figured nothing would, at that point.

A couple days ago, they had found a tiny creature curled up under the Impala on their way out of a run down motel, trying to get out of the rain. The ridiculously small puppy was already soaked to the bone when they spotted it, and shaking like a leaf.  
Dean and Sam hadn't known what to do about the little guy and Castiel had been the one to settle it for them, picking it up in his hand then using that creepy mojo of his to instant dry it. Dean remembered the slight unease he had felt when he noticed that look in the angel's eyes, as he watched over the small pup. It was that very same look he had on whenever he turned those eyes to _him_.

They all knew they couldn't possibly keep the dog, for two very obvious reasons. For one, their job consisted in hunting down the creepiest things roaming around the continent. The poor guy was so fragile it would no doubt die in less than a week, eaten by whatever creepy ass creature found it first.

Also, Dean refused to let them turn the Impala into a dog house. That thing would grow, get huge and leave drool and hair and god knows what all over his baby. No way in hell. He could stand it for a couple days, he had told Castiel back then, but the sooner they found a new house for it, the better.

However, things hadn't turned out as expected. They were Winchesters after all, and things never turned out how the way they wanted.

There they were, barely two days after taking in the pup. They hadn't got around to buying a leash for it yet, and the dog, young as it was, was still very much of a spazz and it seemed to like nothing more than to run and bounce around in all its tiny glory.

Sam was still inside the motel when Dean and Castiel headed out together to start putting their stuff back into the Impala's trunk, ready to get going for their next hunt. The dog was quicker however, and neither of them could really do anything when it bolted out and across the road. No need to mention it was one damn busy road. No need to say how fast that one car drove by. No need to explain a single hit was all it took.

Castiel had moved faster than Dean could, rushing over to the small, crushed body, not even sparing a glance to the car that immediately drove away.

Damn.

"Hey, Cas..." He whispered, now on the same level as the angel, focusing on his face and doing all he could to avoid looking at the puppy's still body. He did not know what else to say, and when Sam ran out of the motel, alerted by the sudden noise, he opened his mouth to ask what happened, but Dean stopped him with a faint shake of his head. He got it immediately.

Castiel was not crying, of course not, it still took much more than a dead puppy to break an angel of the Lord. But as he cradled the little thing in his arm, carrying it back to the side of the road, he walked past Dean and all the exhaustion, the resignation, the misery that filled him were spread across his face, for him to see.

Once again, Castiel felt as though his father had let him down ; once again, he had been powerless to save a pure, defenseless creature.

Dean and Sam lowered their heads as well, the youngest of the two mumbling that he'd go fetch a shovel to bury the little guy, and Dean just wanted to scream.

Days like these were those that hurt the most, they were the days that drained their strength straight out of their bodies and made them wonder if that twisted world made any sense at all.

As he glanced back to his friend, Dean knew Castiel would feel responsible for the dog and probably mourn it for days. He sighed and shook his head, trying to come up with something to tell that big boy later on, to cheer him up some, ease the guilt a little.

He'd become a true Winchester now, after all. He had to save everyone, and damn, he was going to beat himself over every single stray dog that died in his arms.

Not that Dean would blame him.


End file.
